


Impact: The Other Side

by chochosan



Category: Company - Sondheim/Furth
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Car Accidents, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Coping, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Major Character Injury, Post-Canon, Romance, Smoking, Tragedy, self-destructive behaviour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chochosan/pseuds/chochosan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion story to "Impact".  The extra scenes and missing moments.  Joanne/Larry, Joanne/Bobby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to my other Company fic, Impact. This has quite a lot of story in it but isn't a complete fic on its own, so I would recommend reading Impact first. That way you will also avoid spoilers for the original story. Also, all the warnings and notes from Impact also apply to this fic.
> 
> I started this around chapter 6 of Impact, after I wrote a scene from Joanne's perspective and realized that even though I really liked it, it wasn't right for the pacing of the story at that point, so it had to go. But instead of getting rid of all of the scenes that I loved or wanted to write that wouldn't fit into the structure of the full story, I decided to compile them into a side story. This also gave me a great opportunity to write some of the same scenes from a different perspective. So here are the little missing scenes and extra bits from Impact. I had a lot of fun writing these, and I hope you enjoy them. You are also welcome to leave suggestions for scenes you would like to see, although I can't promise I'll use all of the ideas I get.
> 
> Oh, and like all my fics, this one came to me in the middle of the night through a haze of insomnia.

 

 

"Come on, Joanne, we're going to be late. Robert's probably waiting for us already."

Joanne hurried down the stairs, putting in her earrings as she went. She stopped at the foot of the stairs. "How do I look?"

Larry looked her up and down, smiling as he took in the long black dress clinging to her amazing curves, her high-heeled pumps, the diamond drops in her ears, the diamond pendant that dipped into her cleavage.

"You look breathtaking, as always," he said as he pulled her to him. He kissed her and she smiled against his mouth. He began to kiss his way down her throat when she ducked out of his arms.

"We're going to be late, remember?" she said, teasingly. She pulled on her coat and went to pick up her purse from the table in the front hall.

Larry followed her, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind, pulling her back against him.

"Or we could just not go?" He pressed kisses behind her ear and down her neck.

She smiled and leaned back against him, savoring the feeling. "C'mon Larry. Robby's waiting for us."

She pulled away from him, but turned and looked at him coyly over her shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll have time when we get home."

Larry smiled and followed her out of the house and into the car. He behaved himself for a little while, but a couple minutes into the drive his hand wandered over to Joanne's thigh and he began to run his fingers upwards. She laughed and pushed his hand away. She turned to him, about to tell him to save it for later, when she saw the flash of headlights. Her eyes went wide with fear.

_"Larry!"_

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The van plowed into the driver's side of the car. Joanne could hear the metal screech as it was twisted out of shape, could hear the glass shattering. The impact threw her against the passenger door, and she felt pain like nothing she'd ever felt before. She felt her arm break. She felt her ribs snap and her flesh tear, and then suddenly she couldn't breathe. Something sliced into the side of her neck and she saw a spray of red. Her head slammed against the window hard enough to make her see white light. There was a sickening  _crack_ , and she couldn't tell whether it was from the window or her skull, or both. The last thing she was aware of before she blacked out was the sensation of warm blood flowing down the side of her face.

* * *

The first thing she was aware of was the pain coursing through her body – through her chest, her arm, her neck, her head. Every breath sent another pulse of pain through her. Her chest hurt. Her head was throbbing. Each breath was labored. She could feel the warm blood spreading, soaking into her dress.

She gradually became aware of voices around her. Urgent voices, shouting commands. Her eyes fluttered open. She was in the back of a van – an ambulance. There were people around her. Someone was pressing something to the side of her throbbing head, and another to the side of her neck. There was an oxygen mask over her face. She tried to move, but couldn't. She realized that she was restrained. The effort made her cry out as another wave of pain washed over her, but she was so weak that the sound came out as a tiny whimper. It was enough to alert the paramedics that she was conscious, though. One of them leaned over and began to speak to her, but her mind was still so hazy that it was as though his voice was coming from a long way away.

_"Ma'am? It's okay, you've been in an accident. You're on the way to the hospital."_

Oh, that was right. There had been an accident. There had been a van. She'd been in the car. With Larry. Even though her mind was fogged with pain, she felt a sudden panic grip her. Was Larry alright? She tried to turn her head to see if he was there with her, but the restraints prevented her from moving.

_"Don't move, you've been badly injured."_

She had to know if Larry was alright, if he was safe. She tried to speak, but her voice came out as nothing more than a whisper, lost in the commotion of the ambulance.

"Larry…"

The effort of even saying that one word exhausted her and she gave in to the pain, her eyes drifting shut as she sank back into unconsciousness.

_"She's crashing…"_


	2. Chapter 2

Bobby sat on the edge of Joanne's bed, holding her hand in his and trying to absorb the situation. Somehow none of it felt real, but he knew he had to try to process it all. It  _was_  real. This was happening. He had to try to prepare himself.  _Critical condition_ , the nurse had said.  _If she wakes up_ , the nurse had said. And then…Larry. Joanne's condition was bad enough, but the nurse had said that his injuries were 'more extensive'. If Joanne's condition was critical, what did that mean for Larry's chances?

He looked up at the sound of someone entering the room. It was the same nurse who'd brought him to Joanne, and her expression was grim. Bobby stood, his heart pounding wildly.

"Larry?"

"I'm very sorry, sir. Mr. Wittman passed away."

Bobby sat back down on the bed, shock making him numb. Larry was dead. His friend, Larry. Joanne's husband.

Oh god.  _Joanne_. He looked down at her still form. What would she do? When she woke up –  _if_ she woke up, the nurse had said – she would have to hear  _that_. She'd be devastated. Despite how she behaved at times, despite whatever she said, Bobby  _knew_  just how much she loved her husband. In the condition she was in, the shock alone could probably kill her. He almost hoped she wouldn'twake up, wouldn't have to hear-

He pushed that thought aside forcefully. He wouldn't –  _couldn't_  – think like that. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her as well. Joanne was strong. She would survive, somehow, surely. She had to survive.

* * *

Bobby stayed at Joanne's side that night. He couldn't leave her, not until he knew for sure whether she was going to be alright. After a couple hours, the nurse who'd spoken to him brought him a chair, something more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room, so that he might be able to sleep for a little while. He was grateful, but he didn't want to sleep. He wanted to be there with her, in case something – anything – happened.

But despite his best efforts, the worry and exhaustion managed to get the better of him and he dozed off for a couple hours. When he woke it took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. He went to sit on the edge of the bed again, his heart aching.

"Come on, Joanne. Please be alright."

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there at her side, holding her hand. And then all of a sudden, something changed. The beeping from the machines monitoring her condition became more urgent, and a nurse rushed in to check on her.

"What's happening?"

She didn't answer him, just shouted something out the door of the room, and more people rushed in. Someone pulled him away from Joanne's side so the doctors could reach her, and he was pushed out of the room. He stood outside, paralyzed by fear.

Joanne was rushed back into surgery. Bobby collapsed into a chair and prayed for her to be alright. He wasn't sure how long it was before the doctor approached him to tell him that Joanne was out of surgery again. He explained everything very coolly and technically – something about internal bleeding and trauma from the accident. Bobby listened to what he said, nodding but only barely hearing and not really understanding.

"Is it…will she be alright?"

The doctor looked at him seriously. "She seems to be recovering from the surgery, but her condition is still critical, and the accident was severe. Given the scope of her injuries…you should prepare yourself for the possibility that she might not wake."

Bobby closed his eyes as he tried to absorb what the doctor had just said.

"Can I see her?"

The doctor nodded and took him to see her. She looked so small and fragile, he was almost afraid to touch her. He sat down on the edge of her bed and took her hand in his, the doctor's words echoing in his head:  _You should prepare yourself for the possibility that she might not wake._

Bobby couldn't accept that. He'd already lost one of his friends. He couldn't lose her, too. All of his friends meant the world to him, but Joanne? She was…different. Special. There was no one else like her. The idea of losing her, of never again hearing her cutting remarks, never again spending an evening listening to her drunken tales, never again seeing those flashing brown eyes and that teasing smile…that would be too much. He had to believe that she would be alright, that she would wake up.

Bobby practically lived at the hospital after that. He spent as much time as he could there, falling asleep in the chair beside Joanne's bed each night. He wanted to be there when she woke. If she woke. He had already decided that he would be the one to tell her about Larry. He didn't want to, but it would be better than letting her find out from the doctors.

Her condition was monitored closely. Eventually she was deemed stable enough to be taken off the ventilator and moved out of the ICU, but she still showed no signs of waking. The doctors said things about head trauma and vegetative states, but Bobby wouldn't listen to them. He continued to sit by her bed, holding her hand, begging her to wake up.

However as the days passed without any change in Joanne's condition, without any sign that she might wake, it became harder and harder to keep faith, and he finally began to accept the truth – Larry was dead, and Joanne was in a coma. But even as it slowly sank in that she might never wake, he stayed by her side. He'd heard that people in comas could still hear, so he spoke to her sometimes. He begged her to wake up. When he sat beside her in silence, he'd find himself praying that she'd be alright.

Nine days after the accident, nine days with no sign that she would wake, and he was almost ready to give up hope. Nevertheless, he stayed at her side, holding her hand.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Joanne, but please, wake up." There was no answer. After nine days, he knew better than to expect one. Nevertheless, he felt tears sting his eyes, from the combination of grief and exhaustion.

"Don't give up…" His voice cracked a little, and he brought his hand to his face, trying to fight off the tears.

"…Robby?"

He looked up, startled. Her voice had been so soft, barely more than a whisper, that he almost thought he'd imagined it.

Her eyes were open. Relief unlike anything he'd ever felt washed over him. He smiled at her, still not quite daring to believe that this was happening, that she had really woken.

"Joanne," he breathed as he moved to sit on the edge of her bed, "You're awake."

He wanted to hug her, to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, but he knew that he couldn't – she was still too delicate, her body still too broken. He pressed a kiss to her forehead instead. He saw her eyes move around the room before focusing on his face again.

"…How long?" Her voice was still weak.  _She_ was still weak.

"Nine days. You've been unconscious for nine days," he said, his smile fading. "Joanne, do you remember what happened?"

He watched her carefully as she looked away from him, frowning slightly. She was trying to remember. Then her eyes went wide, and she looked up at him.

"We were hit, weren't we?" She tried to sit up. He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from moving.

"That's right." He found himself unable to say anything more. He couldn't find the courage to tell her. He looked down at his lap.

"Robby…where's Larry?"

He dragged his gaze back up to meet hers. She was looking at him, worried but not yet comprehending his reluctance to speak. He steeled himself, knowing that he had to be strong. Knowing that she would need him.

"Joanne, I'm so sorry…"

* * *

"Go. I want to be alone."

Robby said something about coming back the next day and kissed her on the cheek, but Joanne didn't really hear him. She was trying to process what he'd just told her. Larry was dead.  _Her husband_ was dead. He was gone. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. She was numb with the shock of it. All she could do was lie there as her heart splintered into pieces.

At some point, she realized there were tears falling, but she didn't move to wipe them away.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, but eventually the doctor came in to check up on her. She quickly wiped away the tears and did her best to pull herself together. The doctor spoke to her briefly, explaining the state of her injuries and asking a few questions, but she didn't take in much and only said as much as was needed. He gave her a quick once-over, checking her vital signs and her injuries and the surgical incisions. They must have put her on some pretty strong painkillers – she hadn't even noticed half of her injuries. Either that or the pain of her broken heart was blocking out everything else.

After the doctor left, she stayed lying there, staring up at the ceiling. After a little while, exhaustion got the better of her, and her eyes drifted shut as she fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  As for  _Impact_ , I'm sorry about the delay in updating, I just realized that I had to make some large edits that affect much of the continuity of the as-yet-unposted chapters, so I want to make sure that I have all that sorted and everything is correct.  I also will be working on two shows simultaneously this spring, so that might eat into my time somewhat.  But I will finish it, I promise!  


	3. Chapter 3

Bobby spent as much time as he could at the hospital. Despite her attempts to hide it, he could see how badly Joanne was doing, and he didn't want to leave her alone too long. He wasn't really sure what he could do to help, but he hoped that she would at least be able to feel how much he wanted to support her. More than once he fell asleep in the chair beside her bed.

Although she was slowly improving, Joanne was still frail. She spent much of the first couple days asleep. While she slept, Bobby stayed by her side and held her hand. When she was awake, he would sit on the edge of her bed and talk to her. Sometimes he'd read her bits of the newspaper until she drifted off to sleep again. He didn't press her to talk more than she wanted to. She was still very weak, and he didn't want to make her think or worry too much about Larry or her situation.

After a week she was recovering her strength, and the doctors let her go home. Bobby was relieved.

* * *

Joanne was relieved to be released from hospital. She had spent too much time lying in a hospital bed with nothing to do but feel the pain of her loss. Robby had visited her as often as he could – he'd even sat beside her all night more than once – but she needed to be  _doing_ stuff. And she wasn't able to smoke or drink in the hospital.

The doctors gave her a bottle of painkillers and some bandages, and she was given a thorough talk about what she must and mustn't do, and a list of instructions. She took the pills and the gauze, but stopped paying attention to what the doctor said after he got to "no smoking". On the way out she dropped the list in the garbage.

Finally, she was leaving the hospital. Robby was standing by a cab, waiting for her. He opened the door for her – such a little gentleman. As he climbed into the seat beside her she pulled her cigarettes out of her purse and lit one, grateful that he hadn't heard the doctor's lecture. She didn't look at Robby and he didn't say anything, but she could feel his eyes on her all through the ride home.

It felt like an age before the cab pulled up in front of her townhouse. She hesitated, looking up at the building. It had been almost two weeks since she'd last been there. Suddenly, the memories of her last evening with Larry came flooding back. Suddenly, her chest felt tight and her heart was aching.

"Joanne?"

She started a little and turned to find Robby looking at her worriedly. She forced herself to smile at him and got out of the cab. She walked up the front steps, pulling out her keys as she went. Robby pulled a bag out of the trunk of the cab – he must have packed some stuff for his stay – and followed her.

And then she was home. She was standing in the home she had shared with her husband. Everything was just as they'd left it that night. The newspaper was still sitting on the coffee table. The magazine she had been reading was still on the arm of the sofa. One of Larry's ties was hanging over the back of a chair – he'd spilled some coffee on it at work.

Joanne walked over to the sofa and collapsed onto it, draping one arm over her eyes so that she wouldn't have to see all those little reminders of the life they'd shared.

"It's good to be home," she said, knowing even as she said it just how unconvincing she sounded. She heard Robby approach her and kneel beside her.

"Joanne? Do you need anything?"

Joanne lifted her arm and looked sideways at him. His eyes were full of concern. It was sweet and touching, but ultimately it didn't help. There were some things that no one could help with.

"You're not my nursemaid, kiddo. You don't need to hover over me and wait on me every second."

"It's only until you're healed, so you should enjoy it while you can," he said, teasingly.

She smiled weakly at his attempt to cheer her up, and she sat up, her bruised body objecting to the movement. "Right now, I just want to get some sleep in my own bed. Tomorrow there will be…things to deal with."

Like Larry's funeral arrangements.

"Joanne?" he sounded worried again.

"I'm fine, Robby!" she snapped, more forcefully than she meant to. It seemed to surprise him. She sighed, forcing herself to calm down. "You can stop worrying about me, kiddo."

She felt him watching her as she went into her room. She shut the door behind her, glad to be away from Robby's persistent concern. She leaned against the door and surveyed the bedroom she had shared with Larry. Everything there was still the same as it had been that night. The sheets were still a little rumpled, her tubes of lipstick were still scattered across her dressing table. She went and cleaned them up absent-mindedly.

Somehow she managed to get out of her clothes on her own, even though her range of motion was severely limited by the bandages and broken bones. Before she put on her nightgown, she paused in front of the mirror to examine herself and her injuries. It looked pretty bad, she had to admit, and as the painkillers wore off it was starting to feel pretty bad.

That was right. The painkillers. She'd put the bottle in her pocket. She retrieved it before pulling on her nightgown. She carried the bottle of painkillers into the adjoining bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet, intending to put it inside, when her eyes landed on an old bottle that she had nearly forgotten about – her sleeping pills.

She picked up the bottle. She hadn't taken them in almost a year – she hadn't needed to – and there were still some left. She stood there for a minute, staring at the bottle, before forcing the dark thoughts from her mind and putting the sleeping pills back. She closed the cupboard firmly and put the painkillers on her nightstand instead. It would probably be better if she kept them near her, anyways.

Finally, she collapsed into bed. The sheets still smelled of Larry. She closed her eyes, fighting off the tears. After a couple minutes, exhaustion claimed her.

* * *

Joanne woke around midnight, hungry and in pain. She got up slowly, her body protesting every movement, every breath, and picked up the bottle of painkillers from her nightstand. She slowly made her way to her dresser and retrieved her silk robe. She pulled it on, her arms aching as she did so.

She hobbled out of her bedroom. When she reached the living room, she found that Robby was asleep on the sofa. He'd cleaned up a little, she noticed. The newspaper and magazine were gone, and Larry's tie was no longer in sight. She moved around the sofa as quietly and carefully as she could and limped into the kitchen. She got herself a glass of water and took a dose of the painkillers. She had no idea what was in them, but it must be strong if it blocked out all  _this_. Her whole body ached with every breath.

She limped over and opened the fridge. It had been two and a half weeks since anyone had been there. She wasn't quite sure what food was still edible. She started poking through the contents of the fridge, making a stack on the counter of things to throw away.

"Joanne?"

Joanne turned to find Robby standing in the doorway. He was dressed only in pajama pants. She found herself staring at his bare chest for a moment before she quickly gathered her thoughts.

"Sorry, Robby, I didn't mean to wake you," she said as she went back to cleaning out the fridge.

Robby rushed to her side and caught her wrists gently. "Joanne, you shouldn't be up and about. If you need something, you should have woken me. It's what I'm here for."

"Really, kiddo. I'm not an invalid. You don't have to wait on me hand and foot."

He didn't answer, but she saw his eyes flick down to the bandages on her neck and chest and the bruises visible above the neckline of her nightgown. He put his arm around her and gently steered her back out into the living room, sitting her down on the sofa. Since he clearly wasn't about to take no for an answer, she didn't waste her energy trying to argue.

As he disappeared back into the kitchen, her eyes fell on the liquor cabinet in the corner. She briefly considered getting herself a drink, but dismissed the idea. Robby might not know that the doctors had ordered her not to smoke, but he was smart enough to realize that she wasn't supposed to be drinking while on the pain meds, and she didn't need him hovering over her any more than he already was.

Robby returned a couple minutes later with two plates of food. He gave one to her and sat down on the sofa beside her with his. They ate in silence. Joanne, grateful to have some real food instead of the hospital fare, was focused on her plate, but she was aware of Robby watching her the whole time.

Finally she turned to look at him. "Stop staring, Robby. You're making me nervous."

He jumped a little, almost as though he hadn't realized he'd been staring at her. She couldn't help but smile a little as he stuttered out an apology. She got up to clear her plate and he jumped to his feet.

"Robby, I'm not made of glass. You don't have to do everything for me." She carried her plate to the kitchen, limping a little less now that the painkillers were working again. He didn't stop her this time, but Robby still trailed after her uncertainly.

She put her plate in the sink and turned around to find Robby watching her from the doorway, his eyes still full of concern. She responded to his question before he could ask it.

"I'm fine, Robby, and I'm going back to bed now." She walked past him and back to her bedroom, taking the bottle of painkillers with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in the main fic, I feel compelled at this point to state that smoking after having a collapsed lung is, in fact, a really terrible idea.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating, but the first couple shows of the season ended up being pretty big, I had the flu over the holidays, and then instead of getting a break I now have double the normal number of shows I'd have in the spring.
> 
> To be perfectly honest, this chapter isn't as "finished" as I'd like it to be - most chapters I post have been gone over with a fine-tooth comb for months - but it's been so long since I've updated that I felt I owed it to you guys to post something. This section of the story - post-leaving-the-hospital and pre-Larry's-funeral - was the least firm in my mind. Pretty much the entire rest of the story, both this and the main fic, jumped onto the page more or less fully-grown, but this bit I had to think quite hard about what would have happened.
> 
> I don't have a beta, so if there are any typos that came about while I was cutting and pasting sentences into a different order, I apologize.

It was a bitch trying to bathe while covered in bruises and bandages, but Joanne tried her best. Still, it could only be called a partial success. When she finally gave up on the idea, she discovered another problem: her range of motion was so limited by her injuries that she couldn't dry herself completely. She was starting to feel chilled. The cold was making her injuries ache more, and shivering wasn't helping them either. She managed to wrap herself in a towel before going back to her bedroom and collapsing on her bed, exhausted.

She only allowed herself a couple minutes to wallow in self-pity before she sat up again. There were things she needed to deal with. Even though she'd tried to be careful, she hadn't been able to keep all of the bandages dry. She ought to change them. Actually, she ought to have removed them  _before_  she attempted to bathe, but she'd thought of it too late. She tried to peel off the damp gauze, but her broken ribs, already aggravated by her previous exertion, reacted even worse to any attempt at movement. She gritted her teeth, waiting for the pain to subside.

She really should have known that she couldn't manage this on her own. There was no helping it.

"Robby?"

* * *

Bobby was sitting in the living room when he heard Joanne calling his name. He got to his feet right away. He opened the door to her room and was about to ask what she needed when he stopped dead, his mouth hanging open.

Joanne was sitting on her bed, hair damp and wearing nothing but a towel draped loosely around her hips. He was about to turn away, embarrassed, but then the full horror of her injuries sank in. Even after two weeks, she had a multitude of yellowish-purple bruises, and he could see a constellation of fading cuts and scrapes and gashes all over her skin. There were still several bandages, and he hated to think what sort of injuries they were covering.

After a moment or two of him gaping at her in silence, Joanne seemed to lose patience. "I called you to help, not to get an eyeful."

He blinked and hurriedly tried to gather his thoughts. "Oh. Right. Yeah. What can I help you with?"

She held out a wad of gauze towards him. "I can't change the bandages myself."

He nodded mechanically, still a little stunned the extent of the injuries that had been hidden under her clothes this whole time. He went and sat down on the bed beside her, taking the gauze from her. He gave her a nervous smile before he began carefully removing the remaining bandages, revealing some deep cuts that were just beginning to scar – surgical incisions. He grimaced a little at the sight of them.

"Looks that bad, huh?"

He glanced up at her. "No, it's just- I didn't realize…it must hurt."

She made a little motion that was half shrug, half wince. "Could be worse."

He stared at her sadly for a moment before returning his attention to the bandages.

He did his best, but his attempts were clumsy – he'd never had to do anything like this before – and he inevitably ended up bumping into one of the deep bruises on her side. She winced.

"Oh God, I'm sorry-"

She gave a little strained laugh, still clearly in some pain. "It's okay, Robby. You're doing better than I did trying to bathe."

He glanced up at her. "If you needed help, you should have asked me."

She shrugged, wincing a little at the movement. "I didn't want to bother you."

"I wouldn't have minded. Really."

One corner of her mouth twitched upwards into a sardonic smile. "Enjoying the view, are you, kiddo?"

He felt his face turn red and all of a sudden he couldn't look her in the eye. Not that looking anywhere else was better. His hands slipped, making her wince again. As he mumbled another apology, it suddenly occurred to him that, other than the doctors, he must be the first man to see her like this, to touch her bare skin, since-

 _No,_ _Robert, stop it._   _Now is_ not _the time to be thinking like that._

He returned his attention to reapplying her bandages as carefully as he could. Once he was finished, he helped her pull on a nightgown and excused himself, leaving the room quickly and without meeting her eyes.

* * *

For the first time since she'd woken in the hospital, Joanne found herself smiling a little. It had been kind of entertaining watching Robby blush as he'd helped her. He hadn't done too bad a job. And he'd been so worried about hurting her. It had been quite sweet, really.

Much of the rest of the day was spent in slightly awkward silence, Robby still seeming a little embarrassed and uncomfortable with their moment of intimacy. Joanne wasn't – she'd never had a problem showing skin – but she was irritated to find that Robby was now hovering over her even more than before. She suspected that it was because he'd finally gotten a chance to examine her injuries up close. As sweet as it was, it was starting to get on her nerves, so she excused herself and went to bed early.

She woke a few hours later after having a vivid nightmare about the accident. She couldn't get back to sleep after that, and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. She was actually somewhat relieved when the sun rose and she could get out of bed and occupy herself with something.

* * *

Bobby went to check up on Joanne as soon as he woke up; he was worried about her after seeing her injuries. He was startled to find her bed empty. He hurried through the living room and to the kitchen. She was sitting at the counter, sipping coffee and staring out the window absently.

"Joanne?"

She jumped a little. It seemed he'd startled her out of her thoughts. She glanced at him before looking down at her cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Robby."

He went over to her. "Are you okay? Why are you up so early? Could you not sleep? Is it the pain? Do you need me to-"

"Robby," she cut him off with an exasperated sigh, "stop it. I'm  _fine_."

He  _knew_ that she was lying. He could see it. But if she wasn't going to admit it, if she wasn't going to let him help her…

He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it away before standing and leaving the room. He couldn't help but notice that she was still moving a little delicately, and he rushed to help her. She recoiled from his touch.

"I'm not a cripple!" she snapped. When she caught sight of his startled and hurt expression, she softened a little. "…I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Joanne." He tried to take her hand and, perhaps as an apology, she let him. "I'm just worried about you."

She looked at him, her eyes dull and sad. "Don't bother."

However, she gave his hand a slight squeeze before letting go and walking away. He heard her return to her bedroom and shut the door behind her. He felt his heart aching for her. She needed him, he was sure of it, but he didn't know what he was supposed to do.

A couple days later Joanne started talking about him going home. Bobby didn't want to leave her, but she was quite insistent, and so he left but not for long. He returned the next day, as soon as he got off work. He brought her dinner in case she was still having trouble. He let himself in with the spare key so as not to disturb her if she was resting, but she was already up and about when he got there.

As soon as he saw her, he could tell that she had been drinking the previous night – after so many years of drinking together, he could tell when she was hungover. He didn't exactly approve, given the condition she was in, but at least she was sober by the time he arrived.

"Hey." He held up the food. "I brought you dinner.

She gave him a little smile. "Thank you."

They ate dinner together in silence. Joanne didn't seem to feel like talking, and so he didn't try to force her to make conversation, but he watched her, worried. He cleaned up for her after dinner, relieved that she didn't try to refuse his help or insist that she could manage on her own. He noticed the wineglass by the sink, and he shook his head a little.

When he had finished washing the dishes, he found that she'd settled herself on the sofa with some papers spread out across the table in front of her.

"What are you doing?"

"Funeral arrangements," she said simply.

He went and sat beside her, his heart aching for her a little.

"Joanne, I could help."

"No." She didn't even look up at him as she said it.

"But-"

"No."

" _Joanne_." He placed a hand on her arm and she finally looked up at him. "I want to help you."

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable.

"Go home, Robby. I have things to take care of."

* * *

The night before the funeral, Joanne didn't sleep. She  _couldn't_  sleep. She spent a few hours tossing and turning before giving up and getting out of bed, feeling restless. She spent a while pacing before sitting down with a glass of wine.

…She hadn't really just sat down and thought about things since getting out of the hospital. For the first few days she'd had Robby there to reassure, and after that there had been arrangements to make and things to take care, so she hadn't had the time to just sit and think. She was starting to wish that she had something to work on, something to occupy her mind.

She got to her feet again and began pacing through the house, looking for something to occupy herself. She paused outside a closed door – Larry's office. Robby had closed the door a day or two after she'd gotten home, after he'd caught her staring at it. Well, Robby wasn't around right now.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

The first thing she noticed was that Robby had hidden everything he didn't want her to see in there – all the little reminders of Larry and their last night together were sitting on the desk. She shook her head, her lips curving into a cynical smile. So typical of Robby, to think that putting a few trinkets out of sight would make things easier, would make her forget about her loss.

She sat down at Larry's desk and flipped through the papers on it idly. They were mostly work-related. He'd been in the middle of a couple of projects. She remembered him talking about work and everything he had to do a day or two before it had all happened, talking about how important those projects were. She hadn't paid much attention at the time – she'd already been a few drinks in that evening – but he'd been so worried about work and all of that. Well, none of that mattered now.

It was…odd. How quickly things changed. One day, one  _moment_ , everything was normal, the next…

…She hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye, had she? It had all been too sudden. Of course, that's what the funeral was supposed to be for and all, but, well, there would be  _other people_  there. Larry's colleagues, his friends…his  _family_. She'd be damned if she was going to let  _them_ see her cry.

Still, she should…do something. Say goodbye properly.

She picked up a pen – it was the expensive fountain pen she'd given Larry a few years ago – and pulled out a blank sheet of paper.

She spent the night sitting there, writing and sipping her wine. By the time she drifted off a little after dawn, her letter was written – it had taken one page and several glasses of wine. Her writing was hardly legible by the end, but it would do. It wasn't like anyone would be reading it anyways.

She only dozed for an hour or two before she forced herself to get up. Robby would be coming by to pick her up. She should be ready.

* * *

Bobby went to Joanne's house early on the day of the funeral. He found her sitting at her dressing table, doing her makeup. She didn't look up when he approached her.

"Joanne?"

She didn't stop what she was doing. "I'll just be a couple minutes."

He went to stand behind her. He saw her glance at him in the mirror, but she didn't stop what she was doing. He watched her silently for a moment.

"How are you doing?" he asked softly.

"I'm almost done," she said coolly, still applying her makeup with calm, precise movements.

He sighed. He was pretty sure that she knew that that wasn't what he'd meant, but her deliberate misunderstanding said enough. He sighed and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it away without looking at him. He watched her uncertainly, wanting to say something or comfort her, but not knowing what to do. Finally, she put down her makeup and turned to face him.

"Alright. Let's go."

* * *

Joanne honestly didn't take in much once they arrived at the funeral home. She was too distracted, and too heartbroken. She was suddenly faced with the finality of the whole thing. This was it. It was time to say goodbye.

After the service was over, people wandered past her and murmured a few words. She nodded to each of them, not really hearing what was said. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was aware of Robby hovering nearby worriedly. She was suddenly struck by a need to be away from these people, away from their cloying sympathies and insipid remarks. She left the building, rummaging through her purse for her cigarettes as she went. She paused outside the door to light her cigarette.

…She should say her goodbye now. Now that she had a moment alone. She walked towards the grave, trying not to feel the pain that was filling her chest.

She stood over the grave for a moment, exhaling a stream of smoke as she struggled to find words.

"This isn't what we thought would happen, is it, Larry?" she said quietly. She stood there silently for another moment, not knowing what else to say, before shaking her head, pain rising in her chest again as she felt tear stinging her eyes.

"…You promised me, Larry. You said that you would never leave me. That you'd never hurt me." She took another puff on her cigarette, blinking back her tears. She sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Why does it have to be this way?"

She pulled the letter out of her purse and placed it carefully onto her husband's grave.

…It was time to leave. No point prolonging this. There was nothing else to say, was there?

She turned around and stopped dead when she saw Robby standing there, watching her. He jumped guiltily when she spotted him.

"Robby." How long had he been standing there?

He immediately began to stutter and apologize, but she waved it away. She was in no mood for that sort of thing. "Forget it, kiddo. It doesn't matter."

He stared at her for a moment, seeming uncertain of what to do or say, before going to her and gathering her into his arms. His embrace, while well-meaning, was stifling. She shrugged out of his grasp and headed towards the exit, wanting to be away from all of it, away from everyone. She was halfway there when she heard Robby calling after her.

"Joanne, are you sure you'll be okay? Do you want me to drop by later?"

She turned to smile at him, although she knew her attempt probably wasn't especially convincing. "I told you already, kiddo: you should stop worrying about me."

As she turned and continued walking, he called after her again. "Well, I'll drop by tomorrow after work, okay?"

She didn't turn to look at him. "Yes. Tomorrow." She couldn't even think about tomorrow. She just needed to be alone.

She got into her waiting cab and looked back at her friend, still standing there by her husband's grave. "Goodbye, Robby."

She shut the door and indicated to the driver to go, not giving Robby a chance to respond. Just before the cab turned a corner, she glanced back and saw Robby standing at Larry's grave, and she blinked back tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I will do my best to update more regularly, either this or the main fic. I can tell you right now that the next chapter of this story is pretty much complete already, so it should be up soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Joanne had just buried her third husband. She'd just said her final farewell to the man she loved. She sat at her dressing table, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked tired and old. She  _felt_  tired and old.

Her eyes travelled down to the bottle of pills sitting in front of the mirror – her old sleeping pills. She'd taken them out and put them in her room once Robby had moved back to his own apartment. Every day since, she'd stared at the bottle and thought about swallowing the pills.

She hadn't though. She hadn't, because every day Robby had come by. He'd been there, checking up on her, hovering over her. He was trying to help, she knew. He didn't realize that it didn't help. That he  _couldn't_ help.

Or maybe he knew. Maybe he had been able to tell what she'd been thinking about in her darker moments, and that was  _why_  he hovered over her so much. He sometimes had an uncanny knack for seeing straight to the heart of things, at least where other people were concerned.

 _No_. She shook her head, pushing thoughts of Robby aside. He had nothing to do with this. It was her life and, if she so chose, her death. She poured the sleeping pills out onto the dressing table. There weren't too many left, but they would be enough, especially combined with the painkillers she'd gotten from the hospital. She pushed the pills around on the smooth wooden surface, considering. She wondered briefly whether it would be painful, or if it would be "just like going to sleep", as people always said. She picked up the pills and raised them to her lips…

…She couldn't do it. She dropped the pills back into the bottle and carried it into the kitchen, placing it on the counter next to her painkillers. She realized her hands were shaking, and she cursed her own cowardice.

She pulled out a bottle of vodka and poured herself a glass. She sat down on the sofa and drank it in one gulp. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to think. Not about Larry, not about Robby, not about anything. She retrieved the bottle of vodka and poured herself another glass. Yes, this was better. The familiar drunkenness, the peaceful oblivion it brought her.

An hour and several more glasses of vodka later, she was well and truly intoxicated. She was starting to get a little unsteady on her feet. She poured herself some more vodka, spilling a little as she did so, and smiled sardonically as she turned and raised her glass in a toast to the empty room.

_Here's to the girls on the go –_  
_Everybody tries._  
_Look into their eyes and you'll see what they know:  
_ _Everybody dies…_

Her eyes landed upon a framed photo on the mantelpiece, and her smile slipped. Her and Larry's wedding photo. She could see the two of them together, smiling out of the frame. She ran to the mantelpiece and threw the picture across the room. It struck the far wall, the glass shattering. A tear slid down her cheek. She clutched her glass of vodka, her hands shaking again. She stumbled blindly out of the room, desperate to escape the memories, the pain. She found herself standing in the kitchen, the glass of vodka still clutched in her hand, staring at the pill bottles sitting on the counter, and two words emerged from the darkest recesses of her mind.

_Why not?_

She poured the remaining sleeping pills into her hand and swallowed them with a gulp of vodka. She dropped the empty bottle onto the floor and picked up the painkillers. She poured some of those pills into her hand, she didn't count how many, and swallowed those as well. She stood there in the kitchen, pill bottle in one hand, vodka in the other, as the reality of what she had just done sank in.

_This is it. This is how I die. After all the pain, all the sadness, this is how it ends for me._

She dropped the bottle of painkillers and the remaining pills scattered across the floor. She gripped her glass of vodka tighter. What now? She was supposed to write a note, wasn't she? It was probably too late for that. Even if she was coherent enough to write, there was no one left who would read it.

_No, that's not true. Robby would read it._

The thought stabbed into her heart like a knife. Robby. Poor, sweet Robby. What would he say when he found out? What would he think? Would he blame himself for not being there? She should leave a message for him, say goodbye. Something. She looked around for a pen and paper. She managed to take a couple steps but suddenly the whole room was spinning around her. The glass of vodka slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. Her vision was blurring. Suddenly, her legs were too weak to support her. She crumpled to the floor, the room going dark.

* * *

_"Joanne?"_

Someone was calling her in the distance. She knew that voice, didn't she? She felt like she should answer it, but her strength was gone. She was too weak, too drugged. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She couldn't even open her eyes.

_"Joanne?"_

That's right. Robby. Of course it was Robby. It was always Robby. She could hear him moving through the house. He must be searching for her. His footsteps were getting closer.

_"JOANNE!"_

Oh, he'd found her. She felt him shake her, heard him calling her name, begging her to open her eyes. Felt him checking her pulse. She heard frantic footsteps, heard him yelling into the telephone, and then he was back at her side again, picking her up, cradling her in his arms. His arms were warm. She liked the feeling.

_"No, Joanne. Don't do this to me. Please. You can't."_

She could hear the tears in his voice. She felt him press his lips to hers, felt him trying to breathe life back into her, but he was too late. Everything was fading as one last thought echoed in her mind:

_I'm sorry, Robby. I know you'll probably never forgive me for this…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say that even though it's quite short, this was my favourite chapter to write out of this whole story (both this and the main fic), the one that flowed the most easily from my mind onto the page, and the one that required the least editing. I kind of hate to think what that says about me.


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